The Demigodly Hunter
by Starlit Night 67
Summary: The titan war has ended, and Percy thinks that he can have peace, at least for a while. With a voicemail from the very people his mother tried finding, and later cut all ties with Percy's world changes. Because of a higher force, Percy is sentenced to Tartarus . . . and he returns after decades, at least to him. And what's with the pure being he sometimes sees in his mind's eye?
1. Chapter 1 - Are You Freaking Kidding Me?

Chapter 1: Are you freaking kidding me?

 _'You have 1 unread voicemail(s).'_ The glowing screen of the iPhone reads.

I stare at the screen in confusion and slight suspicion. Who would want to send voicemail right now? A client, maybe? Or some kind of author friend she made? Or a monster? You could never be too careful in the demigod world.

"Mom!" I holler, "You've got voicemail!"

"I'm coming Percy," she says back from her station in the kitchen, "just give me a minute would you?" Mom pauses. "Or better yet, why don't you see who it's from?" the smell of Mom's homemade cookies wafts through the air. I inhale deeply, like a starving man who's had his first meal in a long time.

I tap play.

 _'Sally!'_ a gruff voice says in panic. _'It's me, Bobby! Robert Singer! I need your help with the -'_ Mom enters the room.

I have said this once, and I will say it again: Mom's the kindest person I have ever met. Her eyes sparkle and change color in the light. She's smiling warmly. She has brown hair with a few streaks of gray – like the single streak I had from holding the sky on my shoulders, literally – but she isn't old, at least in my eyes.

She hears the rest of the recording as the freshly baked cookies can be smelled from the kitchen, _'-hunts. They're getting worse by the day.'_

I restrain myself from dashing to the cookies as I see Mom's face drains of all color. It's a sickly white shade that bordered on slight green, almost as pale as Nico, and that in itself is a major feat accomplished. I stare for the second time today, but not at Mom's iPhone this time.

My appetite suddenly vanishes. The last time she looked like that . . . well, it wasn't pretty, I'll tell you that.

"Who was it from?" She asks, her voice shaky.

 _Should I tell her?_ I wonder. _She freaked out when she heard the message._

I shrug lightly, dismissing the thought. Mom didn't hunt . . . or did she?

"Bobby." I say. "Robert Singer."

If it was possible, Mom's face looks even _more_ white than I think is possible. _What the Hades is going on over here?!_

Mom blanches and looks at the screen fearfully, like it is the cause of it. I look at her curiously.

"Okay, what the hell is going on?" Paul demands as he enters the living room. His hair is messy, like he was sleeping – which he probably was – before we created such a commotion.

"Nothing, Paul!" she exclaims, her voice higher than normal. That is _so_ not a good sign. Paul and I raise an incredulous eyebrow at her, not believing a single word.

Mom puts her head in her hands.

 _This is getting_ real _scary._ I think as Mom says: "Sit down. This may take a while."

Paul scrambles down to sit next to mom, while I sit nervously on the couch, my foot tapping the floor impatiently and my fingers drumming against the hand-rest.

 _To Hades with ADHD._ I curse inwardly. The tension coming from me is making Mom scared, and that's making me feel even _more_ nervous than I already am.

I hear Mom take a deep breath.

 _Vhoop._

And let it out.

 _Whoosh._

"Okay." _Vhoop._ "Okay." _Whoosh._ Mom calms down. "What do you know about God?" she asks us.

Paul and I stare at her incredulously. She's talking about a _god_? Really? She courted one and she's staring at the son of one in the face

Mom sees our dumbstruck expressions and looks at us pointedly. "I mean like god God. Not like Poseidon or Zeus."

We keep staring at her like she is an alien dropped from outer space.

She runs a hand down her face tiredly. Once again, the look she shoots is pointed. "Christian God? Ring a bell?"

Paul and I exchange glances with each other.

"Oh!" We both drag the word.

But I'm still confused. Paul looks eager, his eyes shining bright as Mom face-palms.

"In the Bible," she explains slowly, making me feel like a little kid all over again, "there is a mention of God. Of one God who took seven days to create Earth. It's similar to Greek Mythology's Chaos, really. He made angels-"

"Like the feathery wing angels." I interrupt.

"Yes, like the feathery wing angels, now let me continue." She says in exasperation. "Okay look. He made angels, who resided in Heaven. So when God made man, a group of angels rebelled. And at their head was God's proudest creation: Lucifer."

"So he's the Devil?" Paul guesses.

"He's the Devil alright." Mom agrees. I, on the other hand, am dumbstruck at the revelation. Gods, I need to stop spending so much time with my badass, amazing, freakishly smart, architecture-loving girlfriend.

I sigh dreamily. _Annabeth . . ._

Mom snaps her fingers under my nose, and I'm suddenly jolted out of Percyland. I remember what I had to ask before my ADHD got me side-tracked.

"And this is relevant . . . how?" I say curiously.

"Because they're still around." Mom smiles bitterly. "I used to hunt. Vampires, Demons, Werewolves, you name it. And thanks to that, my sister died a gruesome death. How else did you think I hadn't even flinched when I heard the Minotaur coming at us, hmm?"

"Who is this sister?" Paul inquires. Mom looks bitterer than Hades, and that's saying something.

"Mary. Mary Campbell."

* * *

 **\- X -**

* * *

"It can't be."

"What?"

"Sally . . ."

"You're starting to creep me out over here Bobby."

"Oh God . . ."

"Bobby . . ." Dean says warningly. "Just what in the name of Hell are you talking about? He asks.

"Look Dean," Bobby says, sounding like all the energy drained out of him, "there's a lot of things your father hasn't told you. Mainly, your Mom's younger sister."

Dean blinks once, twice. "Mom had a _sister_?" he asks incredulously. "That is by far the weirdest thing I've ever heard." He declares.

"What's the weirdest thing you've ever heard?" a voice says behind him. Dean understands, because it isn't everyday Dean Winchester calls anything _weird_.

"Hey Sammy," Dean says fondly to his hazel-eyed younger brother. "What you got there?"

He is staring at the plastic bag held aloft by the huge mitts that Sam calls his hands. Sam scowls.

"Quit changing the topic Dean." He tells the older Winchester. "What's the weirdest thing you've ever heard? Is it a new monster? Demon? Or maybe that Lilith –"

Dean cuts him off. "Whoa. Easy there, tiger."

"Dean."

"Can we get back to the topic over here?" Bobby demands impatiently and successfully garners the Winchesters' full attention.

"Your mom had a younger sister. She –"

Sam interrupts Bobby with an exclamation of ' _What?!'_ as he choked on his own spit. Dean laughs loudly at Sam's face (Which he deems is _priceless_ at the moment) making Bobby's scowl deepen.

"Will you two idjits stop interrupting me?" Bobby says, irritated beyond belief to be interrupted for the second time in five minutes.

Dean straightens up and mocks in soldier-like seriousness. "Yes sir, Bobby sir." He even adds a four-fingered salute and a sixty degree bow as an afterthought.

Bobby's scowl, if possible, deepens. "Stop fooling around and listen!" he nearly shouts. "Look. On a day that Samuel Campbell, your granddad by the way," he looks at his sons in all but blood, "went on a Hunt, Sally and Mary Campbell were in their beds. That day, sixteen year old Sally vanished. Poof! No trace at all." Bobby stops. "The only things that remained were a lock of her hair and Azazel's power signature."

Sam gasps as Dean looked on, horrified.

"And apparently, she began hunting all the evil things she saw." Robert Singer continues. "She was a very famous hunter, almost as famous as your dad. Only that no one knew her name, other than her famous title: The Shadowhunter; she covered up her tracks real good."

"So how did you know it was Sally?" Sam asks, looking white as a sheet. Dean has a feeling that he doesn't want to know.

"Because one day, John went on a hunt. You were five, Sam. And he found her bleeding on the ground. He looked at her and immediately knew he was Mary's sister. That's how much I know."

Dean's gut was right. He didn't want to know that. "So what about her?" The blonde adult asks carefully.

"Not much." Bobby admits. "Only that she lives in Upper East Side, Manhattan and has a seventeen year old son. And there's something different about him."

"Shoot." Dean says casually.

"Well," Bobby rubs the back of his neck, "The guy blew up several schools, fired a Revolutionary War Canon, sent his class for an unplanned aqua trip, strangled a snake all by himself when he was a toddler, torched Saint Louis Arch, hunted by the police, fought this terrorist. And that's the least of it."

Sam and Dean whistle. The kid is a greater trouble magnet than they are.

"My hero." Dean says appreciatively.

"Okay, I have no idea what is officially weirder: knowing that you have an aunt or a cousin who blows up things." Sam says, shaking his long shaggy brown hair.

"Whatever may be," Bobby says, looking at the Winchesters meaningfully, "we need get in contact with them."

"What's the kid's name?" Dean asks his paternal figure.

"Percy." Bobby says carefully. "Percy Jackson."

Dean groans in exasperation. He should have known it would be him.

"You know him?" Sam asks curiously.

"Yeah." Dean admits. "The guy helped me out with a couple of hunts."

Sam and Bobby raise an eyebrow. "When exactly?" Sam inquires.

 _Great. Another secret to reveal._ "Remember when I said that I was screwing girls?" he says.

"Yeah?"

"I never did screw girls." Dean says bashfully. "I went on hunts. So what're we waiting for?"

* * *

 **\- X -**

* * *

I never did enjoy Hermes' unexpected visits.

So it would be safe to say that I still don't enjoy Hermes' unexpected visits.

"Hey little cousin!" the salt and pepper haired messenger god says cheerfully. "How are you?"

"Fine, Hermes." I say tiredly. You can't blame me can you? After the huge bomb Mom dropped on Paul and I, I think that I have a right to be tired. "What do the gods want this time?"

I can see a flash of panic of the trickster god's face before he replaces it was his happy-go-lucky demeanor.

"Don't you think I came for a social visit, Percy?" Hermes asks, and I can see right through him.

"Olympus was locked down a month ago." I deadpan. "So this means that you guys want something."

Hermes looks wearier than I've ever seen him, looking a lot like the thousand year old immortal he is. A grim smile is plastered on his face. "Alright." he concedes. "You caught me. The gods have summoned you for a council meeting on Olympus."

I didn't expect that.

"No." I say, panicking. "No, no, no, no. I am _not_ going to Olympus. If this is about me saving the world again, I vehemently refuse. I don't give a rat's ass, but I am not going to be in the middle of a war."

Oh gods, did I use _vehemently_? I have _got_ to be spending less time with Annabeth. Hermes looks shocked at my swearing, probably because I've never done it before. I give him a sly smirk and dash straight out of the apartment.

Okay, I have got to admit that that was a stupid yet classic Seaweed Brain stunt. I can't outrun the god of travelers – who can break the sound barrier with his speed if he wanted to, by the way – but I can at least try. I will absolutely not let the oh-so-great _gods of Olympus_ have their way with me. I have been forced enough, and I don't really care for this anymore. It's now I understand why Luke turned out the way he did.

The gods don't care for demigods. They never did. And demigods have to grow up fast; they yearn for the love a parent that was missing from their lives. And to know that they didn't even bother to check up on them . . . they could be desperate enough. The only reason I didn't join Kronos because I had first-hand experienced the evil in him.

I feel a tap on my shoulder the moment I touch the doorknob of the apartment building entrance. _Damn. I hadn't even gotten out._

And with a soft whisper in my ear, everything faded to black.

* * *

 **\- X -**

* * *

 _"I'm sorry_."

The words keep ringing in my ear. My eyes flutter open slowly, like something had tried to stick them together.

 _Gah._ I think, looking around. _Where the Hades am I?_

The room smells like a hospital. He room looks like a hospital. And I have the sudden urge to run as far as I possibly can. I _hate_ hospitals, with their bleach smell and the stark white room. It always put me on edge.

 _Wait a minute . . ._ I think slowly, after stretching all my limbs like a cat. _I wasn't in a hospital!_

"Percy!" A familiar voice exclaims, nearly squeezing the life out of me. I register raven hair and tanned skin, and it doesn't take long for me to recognize the person.

"Dad?" I ask carefully. "Why am I in the infirmary?"

Immediately I cringe inward. Infirmary? It's definite now, I have got to be spending less time with Annabeth.

"Percy." Poseidon says softly, clutching me by the shoulders. "Zeus wants to have an _audience_ with you." He says the word audience like it left a sour taste in his mouth.

"Why?"

"Because he knows everything about you now." Poseidon says sadly.

My eyes are wide, and I can feel my mouth growing dry. I take a closer look at my father. His face is weathered and tanned, but it is not as deep as it usually was.

That's the first thing that sets me off.

My dad looks haggard, and there are dark bags under his eyes, which look slightly puffy and bloodshot.

That's the second thing that sets me off.

He doesn't have his trident, and his mouth is locked in a grim line. His green eyes are not as bright, and his clothes are not as bright. I mean, he isn't wearing his floral print Hawaiian shirt. He's wearing a plain black shirt with black pants. In other words, he looks like Hades, only with a tan and with green eyes instead of black.

That's the third thing that set me off.

I blanch.

"Come." Poseidon looks mournful. "The Council awaits."

And suddenly, a chill skitters across my spine. It's the presence of foreboding. My gut confirmed it, twisting into knots and making me feel like I'm going to throw up any second.

I don't want to go to the Throne Room.

But I do, trailing behind my father, watching the hushed whispers of the inhabitants of Olympus.

That makes me feel even more nauseous than I already am.

A frantic voice whispers in my ear. It sounds like the purest sound you can hope to hear on earth, like the clean note of the triangle, or chiming church bells. I straight away know that a powerful deity is talking to me, but what I don't know is _who_. Or _why_ for that matter. I'm not someone an immortal being would waste their time over, since I manage to piss off almost every powerful person I meet.

 _Leave while you can, noble soul! Danger awaits!_

I know that. I know that the moment I walk through the glided doors of the Olympian Throne room, I'm a dead demigod.

And in my mind's eye, I see a golden figure with the most beautiful white wings, a pure creature, shake his head in sorrow and defeat. I realize that this was the person who was warning me, though I don't know why.

I am, after all a child, for all intents and purposes, who has seen war. Who has seen death. Who has seen the pestilence that divided my family. Who has seen the conquest that killed so many people.

But despite my instincts, and the warning of the angel-like creature, I step inside. And what I see, isn't pretty.

* * *

 **\- X -**

* * *

"Perseus Jackson!" Zeus booms, and I roll my eyes from my place, chained to the ground. From here I could see the faces of each and every god on their thrones. Zeus looks victorious, like he's proved his point of me being untrustworthy. Hades, on the other hand merely looks impassive, but I can swear I see a hint of sadness in those onyx eyes. Demeter looks indifferent, while Ares and Athena look savagely happy. I suspect that Athena's happiness has to do with me not being near Annabeth. Hermes looks pleading, begging for forgiveness with his cobalt eyes. Apollo looks horrible, his eyes wide and panicking while his twin looks on with a stern and cool gaze. Aphrodite looks hurt for some absurd reason. Hephaestus looks remorseful, his hands fidgeting on his La-Z Boy throne. Hestia looks sad, like all the hope drained out of her. Dionysus looks like he doesn't care. Poseidon looks like he was attending a funeral, his eyes glazed as silent tears spill from them. But Hera shocks me the most.

Her eyes are misty, like she's witnessing the death of her child.

"You have been accused of hunting demigods!" Zeus, or air-head, as I like to call him, says. "Is this claim true?"

I look at his eyes with a challenge. "No."

"Then explain your hunter heritage." Athena says, smirking in triumph. "Or are you denying it?" she says in mock-innocence.

I'm not a grudge kind of person – the only one I have is with Ares – but I officially hate Athena like one would for an arch-nemesis. I understand from where my father garners his hatred.

Speaking of the older god, he is glaring loathingly at the so-called Wisdom Goddess. His tan hands look like they're itching for their trident.

I allow a satisfied smirk flit across my face minutely as I say:

"Yes. I am a hunter." The shocks on the faces of the gods are _unbelievable_. I wish I had my camera.

"But that does not mean I have hunted any demigod." I continue. "What proof do you have?" I ask slyly, grinning inwardly. My diplomatic skills have sky-rocketed thanks to my amazing blonde girlfriend. I see the proud smirk on Poseidon's face and feel amazing instantly. But the euphoria rushes out of me just as fast.

 _Annabeth . . ._ I think sadly.

Zeus and Athena are grinning deviously now. Poseidon and I exchange panicked glances, wondering what the prideful father and daughter have in mind.

"Iris," Zeus says, creating a rainbow, and I can see him suppressing a smile, "Show me the deaths of the demigods at the hands of Perseus Jackson, Son of Poseidon."

I look at the screen, and I'm horrified to see that a dark-haired man with emerald eyes slaughtering my fellow warriors. Poseidon's tears stream at a steady rate, Hera looks ready to bawl her eyes out and Hestia is sniffing softly. Even Hades looks misty-eyed.

The video ends, and I'm still staring at where I saw those.

"Any last words, demigod?" Zeus says coldly.

"What about a trial?" I demand. "I am supposed to have a trial!"

Athena's smirk is huge. In fact, it looks ready to crack her face. "For clear-cut proofs such as this," Athena says victoriously, "Lord Zeus has the right to dispel the threat through any means necessary."

I am horrified. I look at every Olympian who I think supports me, and give them a grateful smile as Zeus repeats his last sentence.

"Tell Annabeth," I whisper, my voice resounding throughout the room, "Tell her . . . that I love her."

"Insolent demigod!" Athena snarls, furious at the mention of her daughter. "Enjoy Tartarus."

Zeus' smile is cruel as he raises the Master Bolt. I am terrified to face the Pit, because let's face it, Kronos will be itching to get his hands on me.

I close my eyes, and the last image I see before I feel a sinister presence is the Californian girl with tanned legs, blonde hair and stormy grey eyes.

The last image I see is the face of Annabeth Chase.

* * *

 **\- X -**

* * *

Sally was expecting to see Bobby.

After all, if he found her, then he really needs to contact her.

But what Sally Jackson did _not_ expect is the _Winchesters_ , of all people, to be here. Without John, whom she finds out is _dead_ , for all intents and purposes, _suffering_ in _Hell_. _And_ they want _Percy_.

Who, she wants to add, is _missing_.

 _What is going on over here?_ Sally thinks, incredulous as Paul gapes like a fish behind her.

Her phone rings, and when she switches it on, at the insistence of the other occupants of her flat, she sees yet _another voicemail_.

Sally internally groans. What's with all the voicemails today?

And when she hears the recording, she is instantly horrified. And not to mention terrified beyond belief.

"What is it?" The oldest living Winchester _, Dean_ , Sally reminds herself asks, a hint of worry in his voice at her sheet-like complexion with made an appearance for the second time that day.

"Percy's sentenced to Tartarus." Sally says, tears streaming from her face. Paul too looks misty-eyed, his vision blurry with unshed tears.

" _What?!"_ Sam says incredulously.

"The Greeks version of Hell," Sally explains as her mind whirls. She had long since told them that Greek Mythology was in fact, very much real. And that Percy was the son of one. And in return, her nephews said that Dean had only four months to live, before he too suffers his father's fate.

Not on Sally's watch. She lost her son; there was no way she would let anyone she knew suffer the same fate.

And besides, Percy had a knack for the impossible. He would make it out of there.

"Come on kids," She says to her nephews, who scowl, making Bobby laugh, "We've got work to do."

 _I hope you're going to_ _be alright Percy. I love you._

With a gaze as hard as steel, she looks at the setting sun, promising herself:

 _She would never let the same fate befall somebody else._

* * *

 **Whew! And that's the first chapter. It was an idea that kept nagging me, so I put it up. I hope you enjoyed. Tell me how it was! Also, check out my Supernatural one-shot _Last Breath_ and if you're a potterhead, I have also put up _The Wizarding Demigod_. Or, if you enjoy the Mortal Instruments series, _The Third Morgenstern_ is on my profile!**

 **R &R**

 **Star**


	2. Chapter 2 - Hellish Nightmares

Chapter 2: Hellish Nightmares

As much as I hate to admit it, I was right.

Kronos really _was_ itching to get his hands on me. If he couldn't have the world, he tells me, he has to make do with the person who stopped him from taking over the world. In other words: Me.

What I didn't expect, was him letting go of me after a day? Week? Whichever. Don't get me wrong, I was grateful, because in however little time my delusional grandfather had, he had come scarily close to breaking me.

And then came the true version of Hell. I'm not kidding. You know when the gods and Chiron said Tartarus was what mortals called Hell? They couldn't have been more wrong.

Thing was, each pantheon had its own version of Hell. Greco-Roman, Indian, Norse, Chinese et cetera et cetera (All of which are real, by the way). But thing is, they're like candles compared to the blazing inferno of Christian Mythology, which is the origin of everything. And by that, I mean _everything_.

 _And,_ Kronos offered me to the mother of demons, (Not Echidna! There's a difference between _monsters_ and _demons_. Demons are smarter, scarier, and were once human or angelic. Monsters, on the other hand, are dumb, ugly, and were born like that. They didn't have a choice) Lilith. Boy, is she scary or what?

She dons a child-like appearance, which makes the crazed grin on her face hell lot scarier than it should be. She doesn't have the horrible gravelly voice; dear gods, of _course_ not. It's a child's voice, and the dark edge in it is _cr_ eepy. There's this weird hissing sound that accompanies her everywhere, kind of like Medusa, that makes me look over my shoulder each time whenever she's walking behind me. She also has that cute vocabulary that would be adorable on any other kid, but is downright terrifying on Lilith. And if that isn't enough, she has solid white eyes.

I'm serious. Solid _white_. No pupil, iris, or anything. Just the sclera (Annabeth has a terrible influence on me. Since when did I have such an extensive vocabulary?)

Speaking of Annabeth . . .

Gods, I missed her. Everything about her. Her calculating stormy grey eyes, her curly princess blonde hair . . . what would I give to be with her now.

She is my anchor to humanity. I've spent forty years in Hell now, and she's the only thing keeping me sane, because in some bright, hopeful part in my mind, I believe I can escape.

 _Or maybe not_ , I think just as I see Alistair bounding towards me. A devilish smirk is on his face, and I smirk right back, my façade on display for all the residents of Hell to see.

You see, Alastair is cruel, even for a demon, especially in his sadism. The more pain he can deliver the happier he is, but not just physical pain – he is also effective in mental torture and stress. He views torture as an exquisite art and enjoyed being patient and relishing the moments where he tortured his victims which utterly disgusts me. While torturing his victims, Alastair often talks to his victims in a calm, polite manner as they scream in pain. I've been subject to this, I know what I'm talking about.

He relishes in watching his enemies fail to get anything, and enjoys observing their frustration. He is disgusting if I do say so myself.

He also holds contempt for angels, which I've noticed in his recent torture sessions with me, calling me 'angel-boy' for bizarre reason before ranting about God's children, referring to them as "sanctimonious, fanatical pricks" and compares them to cockroaches, and enjoys hurting them, even more than he enjoyed humans, souls and demons. He wishes he knew how to kill them, rather than simply being able to send them back to Heaven which makes me wonder if all the torturing made him completely nuts. I know I'm close.

Alastair has a twisted sense of humor, and he never misses a chance to exploit something he considered funny or ironic. Like how the 'Hero of Olympus' was declared a traitor. He later told me that _he_ made that video, and showed it to the Olympians in incognito mode.

I hate him.

He made my life like this.

"What's the angel-boy thinking of now?" Alistair taunts. He likes to get under my skin, so me, being me, Percy Jackson, Son of Poseidon, and pisser of nearly every immortal being that I come across stubbornly refuse to give in.

"Oh nothing much," I reply breezily. "The weather is nice at this time of the year, don't you think? I just _love_ the blood-red sky." I say sarcastically.

Alistair chuckles. "I like you." He states, making me sick to the stomach. _Well douchebag, I hate you more than anything I've ever hated._

I remember when I'd told something similar to Nico about Gaea when he'd asked me to tell what I felt about our delusional great-grandma.

 _'_ _If I were Gaea I'd be terrified Perce,' Nico said, a sardonic smile on his lips. 'Being on your bad side generally does not end well.'_

I smile at the memory before being hit by a pang of grief. I missed everyone back home.

"Today I won't be torturing you." Alistair declares, smiling like the sadist he is. All the tension vanishes from my body and I sag in relief against the racks. I don't care anymore. If there's a chance I get a free-pass from the pain (by this point I'm sure it will take Alistair only a few days to break me. I'm very desperate now) I'll take it.

But _no one_ gets relief like that.

Something's fishy, I can tell.

Alistair recognizes my expression because his smile becomes a smirk. Uh oh.

"Today, you'll be tortured by someone else." He says cruelly. My eyes widen before my panic deflates. Nothing can be worse than Alistair . . . right?

"Would you like the honors, _demigods_?" Alistair says as he steps aside. _What the Hades?_ I think, my mind clouded with fear. In front of me stood the figures I'd never expected to see.

Zoë Nightshade, Luke Castellan, Ethan Nakamura, Bob and Damasen.

I blanch.

They look exactly the same. Except for the solid black eyes that I've come to associate with demons. They are grinning maniacally, like they've been waiting to get their hands on me. _What happened to you?_ I wonder, my eyes filling with unshed tears at the sight of my old friends.

Alistair gives me one last smile before disappearing with a _Poof!_ I can't say I won't do the same thing in his shoes because the promises of revenge sent my way are _scary_ , to say the least.

 _And the torture begins ._

* * *

 **\- X -**

* * *

Dean isn't having a great day.

His contract is ending _today_. And they still haven't found a way to reverse it, even with The Shadowhunter's help.

Well, if they can't a solution, he wants to do one last thing.

Give the Olympian Gods a kick in their _fucking_ asses. Who the Hell did they think they were, sentencing _his_ little cousin to _Hell?_ Or Tartarus? Whichever. They were equally bad if Sally's description was anything to go by. And he's not joking. The Colt is _actually_ in his hands, which are itching to shoot the motherfuckers faces. Percy didn't deserve Hell. He is sixteen for God's sake!

And when he tells this to his family . . .

"No!" Sally barks. Bobby and Sam echo the sentiment, sending heated glares Dean's way.

He glares right back at all three of them.

"Why not?" Dean asks. "Since I'm going to die today anyway, I want to do this."

"You don't know the power of the Gods, Dean," Sally says in warning, but Dean is too angry to care.

"I don't know?" He says incredulously. "I'm a hunter, for Pete's sake! And even if they _are_ powerful, I don't give a rat's ass! We're trained to hunt pagan gods!"

Bobby rubs his face. "I know, Dean," he says tiredly, "But look at it this way; they'll vaporize you the moment you set foot on Olympus."

"It's better than dying at the hands of the hellhounds."

"I don't care Dean," Sam says, "but you are _not_ going there. If the chance you living is miniscule, it will be impossible if you go there."

"Did you get anything?" Dean shoots back. "Look, let's face it; I'm going to Hell anyway and I'd rather _not_ be ripped to shreds by hell's dogs."

Sally looks exasperated. "Let him go." She says quietly.

"What?!" the other hunters say, incredulous.

"You heard me," Sally says, her lips twitching into the faintest smile, "Let him go."

"But-" Sam protests as Dean does a mental victory dance.

"No buts." Sally says firmly, before locking eyes with Dean. "You remind me of Percy you know," she says fondly, as if she's recalling something pleasant, "he too fought tooth and nail for his family."

Dean smiles.

"If you check the newspapers," Sally continues, "you'll see that there were no newspapers for a few days in mid-august." Behind Dean Sam sucks a sharp breath. "It was the Titan War, my son lead his family to victory, even when it was forty against a thousand monsters."

Suddenly, Dean is proud of the kid.

And now, to kick the butts of the sons of bitches that sent Percy to Tartarus.

 _They will pay for their crime._ He snarls internally.

* * *

 **\- X -**

* * *

Dean is amused.

The guard's futile attempts of dissuading Dean that there _isn't a six-hundredth floor_ is not working by any means.

"Look you fucking guard," Dean growls menacingly, pointing a gun at him, "I _know_ that there's a six-hundredth floor, so give me the fucking keys already!"

Yeah, he knows. His Aunt told him everything.

Pure terror is in the guards eyes. And it makes Dean smirk.

"I need to have a word with the gods." Sally says from behind them, practically growling at the man. If the poor mortal wasn't terrified then, he's _definitely_ terrified now.

"Ms. Sa–ally," The guard stutters, "You know that mortals are not allowed in the realm of the gods."

Sally glares at him. "Yes, I am fully aware." She says. "Now give me the keys before I take it from you. I know where they are."

The guard's eyes widen, and the poor soul blanches in fear. If that murderous expression was aimed at Dean, he'd be shaking in his pants too. Sally Jackson could be _that_ scary if she wants to.

"Yes ma'am," he all but squeaks, "but please tell the Olympians that is not my fault."

His eyes are pleading, and Dean feels bad for the man.

"Okay," Dean says, "We will."

"Thank you," he looks relieved as he hands the Hunters the card.

"Insert this in the security slot," he says.

Dean nods in acknowledgement and steps inside the elevator before gagging.

This place has _terrible_ music. Yeesh. Really, Sam looks ready to puke.

Dean does what the guard told him as the doors close. The card disappears, and a new button appears on the console, a red one that says: 600

Dean presses it and waits, trying not to vomit listening to Muzak.

 _'_ _Raindrops keep falling on my head . . .'_

 _Could this get any worse?_ Dean thinks. The gods _seriously_ need to update their music. Metallica is a good option. Maybe Dean will add that to his list of protests . . . yes, that's a good idea.

Dean is shaken out of his thoughts thanks to a loud _'Ding!'_ . . .

. . . And nearly has a heart attack.

He is standing at a narrow stone walkway in the middle of air. Below, Dean could see Manhattan in all its glory from the height of an airplane. In front of Dean white-marble steps wind up the spine of a cloud into the sky. His eyes follow the stairway, and he sees the most beautiful thing he's ever seen in his short and miserable life. His mind simply didn't believe what it is seeing.

 _It's real, you idjit._ His eyes scream at him.

 _Look again._ His brain commands.

 _It's really there Dean . . ._ his eyes insist, and let's just say Dean goes with his eyes. It's a beautiful sight, and he wants to see as much of it as he can.

From the top of the clouds rose the decapitated peak of a mountain, its summit covered with snow. Clinging to the mountainside are dozens of multileveled palaces – a city of mansions-all with white- columned porticos, gilded terraces, and bronze braziers glowing with a thousand fires. Roads wind crazily up to the peak, where the largest palace gleams against the snow. Precariously perched gardens blooms with olive trees and rosebushes. Dean can make out an open-air market filled with colorful tents, a stone amphitheater built on one side of the mountain, a hippodrome and a coliseum on the other. In all it is an Ancient Greek city, except it isn't in ruins. It is new, and clean, and colorful, the way Athens must've looked twenty-five hundred years ago.

 _This place can't be here_ , Dean told himself. _The tip of a mountain hanging over New York City like a billion-ton asteroid? How could something like that be anchored above the Empire State Building, in plain sight of millions of people, and not get noticed?_

But here it was. And here they were.

Dean sneaks a peak at his family only to see them equally as dazed as him.

Dean's stroll through Olympus is frightening. Some pointy eared people – were those wood nymphs? – giggle as they ogle at him, which (for the first time) makes Dean uncomfortable. Hawkers in the market openly stared, the posters in their shops advertising something that reads 'ambrosia-on-a-stick', whatever that is; new shields (Dean could use some of those); and some genuine glitter-weave replica of the Golden fleece? Holy cow. Also it said as advertised on Hephaestus TV. What the Hell was that?

He sees nine women tuning their instruments – are they the Muses? – and a small crowd of donkey-guys (who are called satyrs if his mythology is correct) and girls that look like naiads and a bunch of good looking teenagers who could have been minor gods for all Dean knew. All of them whisper when they catch sight of him, and that puts Dean on edge.

He climbs the main road, toward the big palace at the peak. Here everything glitters white and silver, like an ethereal city (which it probably is).

Steps led up to a central courtyard. Past that, the throne loom.

Room really isn't the right word. The place made Grand Central Station look like a broom closet. Massive columns rose to a domed ceiling, which was gilded with moving constellations.

Twelve thrones, built for beings the size of giants, were arranged in an inverted U. An enormous fire crackled in the central hearth pit. The thrones were empty except for three at the end: the head throne on the right, the one to its immediate left and the one to its right. Dean doesn't have to be told who the three gods are that are sitting there. He walks up to them in a rage; Sally, Bobby and Sam hot on his heels

The gods are in giant human form, but Dean could barely look at them without feeling a tingle, as if his body is starting to burn; he ignores it. The man in the middle throne is probably Zeus, the Lord of the Gods, wearing a dark blue pinstriped suit. He sits on a simple throne of solid platinum. He has a well-trimmed beard, marbled gray and black like a storm cloud. His face was proud and handsome and grim, his eyes rainy gray. He is smirking, and Dean has the sudden urge to smack it off his pathetic excuse for a face

As Dean got nearer to him, the air crackled and smelled of ozone dangerously. Not that Dean cared.

The gods sitting to his left and right are his brothers, without a doubt, but they were dressed very differently. The one on the right reminds Dean of a beachcomber from Key West. He wears leather sandals, khaki Bermuda shorts, and a Tommy Bahama shirt with coconuts and parrots all over it. His skin is deeply tanned, his hands scarred like an old-time fisherman's. His hair is black. His face has that brooding look that had always gotten people branded as a rebel. But his eyes, sea-green, are surrounded by sun-crinkles that told me he smiled a lot, too. He isn't smiling now, though. Oh no, he is glaring at Zeus with such ferocity that makes Dean wonder why the guy isn't a puddle of sea-water now, because if Sally's picture and description is accurate, this guy is Poseidon, Percy's carbon-copy dad.

His throne is a deep-sea fisherman's chair. It is the simple swiveling kind, with a black leather seat and a built-in holster for a fishing pole. Instead of a pole, the holster holds a bronze trident, flickering with green light around the tips. Poseidon's hands look like they want nothing more than to grab it and pulverize the younger god.

The third god is dressed in black silk robes and a crown of braided gold. His skin is albino white, his hair shoulder-length and jet black, just like Poseidon's. He isn't bulked up, similar to his brothers, but he radiates power. He lounges on his throne of fused human bones, looking lithe, graceful, and dangerous as a panther.

Dean immediately feels like he should be giving the orders. He knows more than Dean does _. He should be my master_.

Dean tells himself to snap out of it.

Hades' aura was affecting Dean, just like Poseidon and Zeus. Where Zeus gives that arrogant aura that makes you feel like a cockroach in his presence and Poseidon the untamed sea, the Lord of the Dead resembles pictures Dean had seen of Adolph Hitler, or Napoleon, or the terrorist leaders who directed suicide bombers. Hades has the same intense eyes, the same kind of mesmerizing, evil charisma.

The gods aren't moving or speaking, but there was tension in the air, as if they'd just finished an argument.

Dean glares at each one of them, looking at them carefully. Poseidon's eyes are red-rimmed, like he's been crying while Hades looks angry beyond belief. Zeus just looks indifferent. Well let's see if the son of a bitch _still_ looks indifferent when the Colt shoots a bullet through his skull.

Poseidon's eyes flick to Sally, who smiles warmly at him for a moment before returning to her mama bear mode. She gives Hades an acknowledging nod while the Underworld deity does the same before going right back to glaring at Zeus.

Guessing by Poseidon's tear-filled eyes glaring loathingly at the Lord of the Skies, they were talking about Percy.

Which meant Zeus banished him.

Dean growls at the god who booms: "Mortals! How have you entered the City of the Gods?"

The arrogance is clear as day in his voice, which makes Poseidon and Dean roll their eyes, Hades, Bobby and Sam snicker and Sally glare at the Thunder god with greater ferocity. As if she wasn't scary enough earlier.

"We're Hunters, Zeus," Dean says challengingly, "and you sentenced one of our own. We want him back."

Poseidon and Hades smile at his courage.

"Hunter?" Zeus asks, confused before realization dawns on him. "Jackson is a traitor!" he says angrily. "I will not release him from Tartarus."

Sam has his Bitchface #1™ (Can you get any stupider?) on as he drawls, "Really? Show us the proof."

Zeus smirks triumphantly. "Gladly." He says before a mist message comes on. It plays a recording where a kid that looks like Percy is killing people with freaky magical powers. His sword is in hands, decapitating them all with the precision of a master swordsman.

Dean whistles. His little cousin's good.

As the recording ends, a faint signature remains that makes Dean angry.

 _Lilith and Alistair._

"You must be a greater idiot than I thought." Dean all but growls at the grey-eyed god. "Can't you see Lilith's signature here? And not to mention that the proof _reeks_ of Sulfur."

His little family nods in agreement as the gods look startled.

"What?" Zeus asks as Poseidon and Hades smirk simultaneously.

Dean rolls his eyes. "A demon altered the image. It really isn't Percy. He was framed. And to think you foolishly went with it . . . tsk. You really are stupid."

The older gods beam at Dean, who offers a smile. Zeus on the other hand looks like he's going to explode any minute.

"My son didn't deserve Tartarus, _My Lord_ ," Sally Jackson spits, as Poseidon glares at Zeus in tandem, "you are just a spiteful, arrogant and paranoid god. A war is on the horizon, and I don't think you will survive. The demons are amassing in the thousands, and you're being a whiny god. A shameful excuse for a ruler of Olympus."

That clearly strikes a nerve because Zeus' left eye starts twitching uncontrollably.

"Bring the kid back," Sam says murderously, "maybe then you can survive."

Suddenly, a thought occurs to Dean. Bobby hadn't spoken throughout the argument. A chime reverberates through the room, making Sally, Dean and Sam freeze in their tracks, confusing the gods.

 _Midnight_.

Slowly they turn to look at Bobby, and are horrified to see his eyes are solid white.

 _Lilith._

Bobby smiles grimly. "This isn't a body I'd prefer, but it will have to make do."

Shadows burst all around the room, and Hades is desperately trying to stop it, but it seems as if they are beyond his control.

"Insolent god," Bobby hisses at the Lord of the Dead, "you think your power can overcome mine? I am the mother of demons, the first of them all! I am Lilith, Lucifer's daughter, an _archangel's_ daughter, and you think you can overpower _me_?"

Hades pales, which Dean had considered an impossible feat the moment he set his eyes on the god. But somehow, it happens.

The gods have long since abandoned their thrones, clutching their symbol of power. Hades with his Helm (and was that a sword in his hands?), Poseidon with his Trident and Zeus with his master bolt.

"Begone, filth," Zeus booms in an attempt to sound threatening. All the other occupants of the Throne Room roll their eyes at Zeus' idiocy.

Bobby flicks his hand, and Zeus crashes into his throne. _Ouch_.

Dean winces in sympathy as Poseidon and Hades look wary.

"Never mind," Bobby dismisses the gods, holding up a hand to freeze everyone present in the room, save Dean, who he gives a sick smile, "I came here for Dean. So tell me, Dean, how was this last year with precious little Sammy?"

Dean doesn't answer, opting to glare hard at the first demon, who just shrugs at Dean's silence before casually saying, "Sic 'im boys," with a sadistic smile.

Dean starts running but the invisible Hellhounds catch up to him easily, ripping his body to shreds with their massive and painful teeth. Dean screams and screams as everyone watches, frozen in place by Lilith, fear and grief in their eyes.

His eyes see a darkness – that just feels _so_ good. It is very inviting, and Dean keeps fighting, but realizes that the more he resists, the more pain he feels.

So he gives into it.

And wakes up in a Hellish nightmare.

* * *

 **And that's that everyone. I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I won't be updating frequently due to my end-term exams, so yeah. Sorry about that *smiles sheepishly and a little regretfully*.**

 **R &R**

 **Star**


	3. Chapter 3 - Disturbing Events

Chapter 3: Disturbing Events

" _What_?!" The stormy grey-eyed demigoddess screeches like a banshee.

Her mentor's intense chocolate-brown eyes are sad, but more accepting of the truth than his student. He has lived for thousands of years, seen so many aspiring heroes die much before their time. Each death had hit him hard, but he's learnt to move on, because some part of him thinks that he's dishonoring their memories and wishes, which makes him sadder. So he tries to move on quickly, being strong for the other campers who mourn their death. This is what happens for a normal hero.

But then again, Percy Jackson is anything _but_ normal.

The sixteen-year-old son of Poseidon is an enigma, a person every person wishes to be. He is perfect in all eyes, save a few, who have been with him through his insecurities and faced them with him head-on. The boy's fatal flaw may be personal loyalty, but the grudges he held could be considered as well. People say he is a very forgiving person, but the truth is he holds grudges as bad as Nico, only that he gets rid of them with appropriate reason.

He also has this stupid belief that all the death in the war is his fault, which isn't true. He actually reduced the number of people who would die. But the teen doesn't try to accept that.

And look where that particular problem of his got him. And his loss hurt Chiron the most.

He was a pure and noble soul. There was this . . . Brightness to him that never diminished. His innocence, his hope, his naïve beliefs . . . They all accounted for the personality of one Percy Jackson. And to think he was gone . . .

 _No._

 _Maybe_ , a small part of Chiron hopes _, just maybe, 'Survivor of Tartarus' would be added to his long list of achievements.  
_  
Chiron latches onto that hope. He doesn't have anything else.

Annabeth's eyes, on the other hand, are disbelieving. After all that crap he had to do for the gods, the said entities threw him in _Tartarus_ of _all places? How could they?_

 _Of course they could_ , a voice that sounds eerily like Luke's whispers bitterly, darkly in her head. Annabeth tries to shake away her delusion, but fails, _they're gods. Once you outlive your usefulness, they kill you. You're killed just for satisfying their paranoia of being overthrown because they think you're too 'powerful' to live. And they don't lose a wink of sleep on that matter of cold-blooded murder. Who knows how many deaths of innocent people is on their hands?  
_  
Sometimes Annabeth wonders if they chose the right side at all. The gods seem no better than the Titans they claim are 'evil'. If they can toss their savior like a piece of . . . Of garbage, then what would they do to the demigods when their powers develop?

 _Kill them I suppose_ , Annabeth thinks sardonically. _They could be a threat to their oh-so-precious throne.  
_  
They never cared. Liars, the lot of them.

 _Especially_ Zeus.

The old god was a damn paranoid one. Just because Percy was strong enough to defeat the Titans, they sentenced him to Tartarus. Yes, Annabeth said 'they'. She's coming to it.

The thing that adds insult to the injury is that _Athena_ , of _all people_ supported this plan. Hades, she helped _make_ it. They used some _two-cent evidence_ (if you could even call it that) and cast Percy away. So much for 'Mother always knows best, and you should never _ever_ say so otherwise'. Wisdom Goddess her ass. Pallas Athena committed the biggest mistake that Annabeth thought even a fool wouldn't dare to think of: _Betraying_ Perseus Jackson. And Annabeth is damned if that decision won't come to bite back the godly father-daughter duo in the ass. Where it hurts. A lot.

And that day is what Annabeth Chase is waiting for, because there is nothing the sixteen year old daughter of Athena has been surer of.

 _'Annabeth,'_ a very familiar voice says as the smell of an ocean breeze fills the Big House. Annabeth inhales the scent deeply, and is hit by a pang of longing. That was - No, Annabeth thinks, is - Percy's trademark smell. So nice and so refreshing. But Percy couldn't have come out so quickly.

So this scent probably belongs to Poseidon.

Chiron looks befuddled beyond belief. He hasn't figured it out yet. _Oh well_ , Annabeth shrugs, noncommittal.

 _'Myself as well, Annabeth.'_ Yep, it's definitely Percy's dad. _'Myself as well. Zeus and your mother -'_ Annabeth winces noticeably at this, making Chiron alarmed _, 'Sent him to Tartarus unfairly, and I am restricted from helping him. He is the first one of my children to inherit my ability, and has a great destiny ahead of him, and I. Am. Powerless. To. Help. Him.'_ Poseidon growls the last part angrily, almost ripping Annabeth's mind to shreds. She clutches it in pain, and thankfully Poseidon seems to notice, because the anger signals reduce significantly. _'Father will not be pleased with them.'_ Poseidon says with a savage glee, something which has Annabeth lost.

 _Kronos_ won't be _happy_? _Kronos won't be happy_?! The guy is probably having a _'field day'_ with Percy! _The Hades?!_

An image of a warmly smiling Sea God manifests itself in Annabeth's mind, and once again, Annabeth is left nostalgic.

 _'Not Kronos, Annabeth,'_ Annabeth is completely confused at this point. _'But that is beside the point. I am here to deliver a message from Percy before he fell: He loves you.'_ Annabeth allows a dreamy smile to plaster itself on its face. _'Honestly how he didn't know this earlier, I will never know. You obviously love him.'_ Poseidon chuckles, and Annabeth feels her face heating up and turning a wonderfully dark shade of crimson as the blood in her body rushes to her cheeks. Chiron looks at her weirdly, but Annabeth ignores it. _'Like a brother of course,'_ adds Poseidon teasingly.

 _'Goodbye Annabeth,'_ Poseidon smiles a fatherly smile, eerily similar to Hestia's only that hers was motherly instead. It cheers up Annabeth none the less, _'and I hope you don't lose faith. Percy will need your help, and soon.'_ _  
_  
And the god's presence vanished, leaving Annabeth to her thoughts. As she reassesses their 'conversation', she is left with several questions, and one assurance.

The assurance is that _Yes, Percy will be okay._

But the questions are many. _Who did Poseidon mean by 'Father'? What does Poseidon mean by Percy's destiny?_ _  
_  
 _And most of all, what does he mean by Percy needing my help?_

You better come out Seaweed Brain

, Annabeth says to Percy who probably can't hear her, _or I'll drag you out._

And frankly, Annabeth doesn't think she'll hesitate to jump into the Pit either.

Suddenly, Annabeth has a genius thought. Grinning evilly, she muses. _Oh just you gods wait till the others hear of this. Their savior . . . Casted to Tartarus._ _  
_  
Her grin grows wider as she ponders over it.  
 _  
You will be in for a nasty surprise, Zeus. Just you see.  
_  
There will be a huge line of Demigods who will be itching to get their hands on the 'Ruler of Olympus' and his strategist.

And you can believe her when she says this; Annabeth will be at the head of it.

She cracks her knuckles (Clarisse has so been rubbing off Annabeth) in anticipation.

 _I will be waiting_ , she sing-songs mentally before laughing maniacally. She wasn't the Strategist of the Titan War for nothing.

Already she is wishing for a machete. Or maybe her knife. She shrugs. Either will make do.  
 _  
You gods are going be in for a Hades of a surprise_ , Annabeth thinks once again, feeling like she can't point out that fact enough. She is sure that her fellow Titanomanchy veterans will agree with her.

And that, lovely readers, is where their true power lies.

* * *

 **\- X -**

* * *

In Hell, two souls have only one thing in their minds, after being tortured for decades.

 _I give up_.

Though one admits it openly, the other doesn't dare voice it out loud. He is broken, yeah, but they both are. But there is just something about the peculiar eyed boy that burns brightly, like a blazing inferno. Even though he is human, something in him can't break. And that something is what Alistair intends to break. But sadly, he can't. The boy is just too pure to strike. He would become a fine torturer if Alistair would have his way, but no, the teen just didn't know when to _give up_.

Devil, the boy's more stubborn than John Winchester. And Alistair _isn't_ damned if John Winchester wasn't a big pain in the arse when he lived. _Gah_ , snuffing out the teen's fight is nigh _impossible_ to do.

But he settles for just the second Winchester in Hell . . . _For now._

He tutors the young adult in the fine art of giving pain. Dean is improving steadily, taking to his teachings very quickly. _If only the other boy was this way . . ._ Alistair sighs. They can have had such fun together, painting with blood, flesh and bones; slicing and dicing souls. They could have created masterpieces, but the sea-green eyed boy refuses to admit defeat and Alistair has to keep torturing, as if that helps any. The fire in the young boy still rebels against Alistair's wishes.

And Alistair can't have that, now can he? _Nope, not at all._

So he levels the playing field.

And so, this is where his friends come in.

He believes they are Zoë Nightshade, Ethan Nakamura, Luke Castellan, and a Titan the young lad named 'Bob' when said Titan lost his memories. (Alistair had to laugh at that because _seriously_? Did the boy have a death wish?) When he shows their warped forms to Percy Jackson . . . The Hero's face is priceless!

His expression is the literal definition of pain and sorrow, something Alistair revels in. Tears are falling from his once-bright-but-now-dull green eyes, and Alistair thinks the boy looks beautiful. He can understand now why the Greek Gods tailed him. But that just might be him, being his sadistic self as usual.

He poofs away, making himself invisible and silently watches the pain his former 'friends' cause him and relishes as the teen tears his throat out, screaming for hours on end. It is like music to his ears. But even after the torture handed to the green-eyed boy, said boy refuses to give up. Why, Alistair has no idea. He is a normally very patient person, but this is ridiculous! How much will it take for the boy to break?! Alistair can go forever torturing him, and Perseus Jackson knows that. Do why doesn't he give in? Why?

What is so precious to him? What is he waiting for? A miracle?

 _Ha,_ Alistair snorts amusedly, _unlikely. This is Hell we're talking about. There are no miracles here._

What will it take to break you, Jackson?

Alistair muses. _Maybe a mix of mental and physical torture?_

Yes, that is a good idea,

Alistair nods to himself after a while.

"Dean!" He calls out to his newest student, who dutifully stands by him the moment Alistair asks for his presence.

"Yes?" The Winchester asks, uninterested.

Alistair allows a dark grin to slide on his face.

"Today, you'll be torturing someone else." Alistair licks his lips in anticipation. "Think of it as a test. If you can break him . . . Well, your transformation to a demon will be much faster and less painful, I'll give you that."

"Who is it?" The blonde asks curiously, desperate to get rid of the pain. The godawful _pain_ that follows him _everywhere_.

"A Demigod."

* * *

 **\- X -**

* * *

"So Perseus," Zoë Nightshade, ex-lieutenant of the Hunters of Artemis says cruelly, "how have thou been?"

I don't answer. Ants are crawling across my skin, and I mean that both literally and figuratively. Ethan and Luke are continuously pouring them inside my shirt as Iapetus sharpens his spear. I'm screaming my head off, tearing my vocal chords to shreds. I already have several cuts and scrapes on my body, having ants over it is _painful_ , I'll give you that.

Zoë makes a deep cut across my face and pours a gracious amount of salt in it. My screams are probably heard across the entirety of Hell by now. The demigods just laugh at my pain as Zoë grinds out mercilessly, "Answer me when I ask thee a question."

"So," she repeats again. "How have thou been?"

"First off," I snarl in reply, "it's Percy. Secondly, Just fucking brilliant," I spit at her sarcastically, "the weather in Hell is fucking amazing, don't you think?"

Generally speaking, I don't swear. But seeing my 'frenemies' (I use this for a lack of a better terminology) like this has almost driven me over the edge. Think of hanging off a cliff with only a rope to support you. Then think of hanging off the cliff with only one little thread, keeping you from falling splat onto the floor. If you can do all that, then you have a pretty good idea of what I'm feeling right now.

Zoë has a disgustingly fond smile on her face as I see Ethan and Luke grin at each other from the corner of my eye. Iapetus doesn't look even the slightest bit ruffled by my remark, instead choosing to keep on sharpening the point of his spear.

"You think so too, Perseus?" She says, and I shudder involuntarily. Zoë may not be a Hunter anymore, but the definitely has the knowledge of one. And sadly, that includes torture. And the fact that I am of the male gender doesn't help the situation at all.

"Scram," a deep voice says, entering the game of _'Torture The Jackson'. The more you make him scream, the more points you receive!_ Insert sarcasm as you read this.

Gah, my life is like a game in a carnival now.

Everyone growls dangerously, especially Luke.

"Winchester," the former Host of Kronos outright snarls, "don't you have other souls to torture? We wanted revenge and now we have it! Do you really think that we will let him go?"

Why did the name Winchester sound so familiar? I have definitely heard it before . . . _Somewhere.  
_  
The figure steps out of the shadows before replying, "Because Alistair says so."

The twenty-six (Maybe more?) year old man had short dark blonde hair, and mundane green eyes that seemed to pierce into my soul. They seem to be haunted with pain, like the weight of the world is on his shoulders, and since I've already done that, I know what I'm talking about.

I have seen this guy before. I don't know, but I just have this feeling.

But something is off with the picture.

My torturers, on the other hand, look like they're about to shit their pants. I feel like laughing at their faces. But I'm too worried to even smile. If Alistair sent this guy . . . He _must_ be worse than my friends.

Zoë, Ethan, Luke and Bob quickly scramble away, and I'm almost shaking uncontrollably. The adult's eyes follow the demons' path, his eyes shifting into mine as they are out of sight. A flash of recognition is in his eyes. He gasps before falling to his knees, like said parts can't hold his weight anymore.

"Percy?" He whispers, shocked. I cock my head confusedly to the side.

"Do I know you?" I ask him curiously.

Hurt flits across his eyes before they harden with determination. "Remember me? Dean? Dean Winchester?"

 _Dean._

Dean Winchester.

''What the Hades?' I cursed.

A pack of hellhounds had been on my trail for half an hour now, and it was getting beyond annoying. Worse thing was, I couldn't even see the monsters.

Screw it all.

A pretty lucky hellhound got a swipe at my chest, which stung like Hades, by the way. I have no idea how it even broke my skin. I mean, I have the Curse of Achilles, gods-dammit. I swung my bronze sword at it where the pointy object in my hands collided with its midsection. It burst into golden dust, the majority of which went into my eyes and mouth. I hacked violently, clawing at my eyes as I waited for death. I was completely incapacitated without my sight, and my racking coughs didn't help me hear.

But a minute passed, and not a single mark appeared on my body. The Hades? My vision had almost completely returned, and voilà, I was still not Percy chow for oversized doggies.

Something's wrong here.

"Hey," a deep voice said. "You alright?"

I spun around to meet the mystery man who also happened to save my life. He had short blonde hair, a good stature, filled out nicely, and had green eyes, like a regular mortal. The Hellhounds would have ripped him to shreds. How was he even alive?

Moreover, how did he save me?

"I don't recon teenagers have swords." He continued casually. "Especially swords that glow like an angelic weapon in the dark. So tell me, what are you?"

. . . What?

I was not expecting that. Of all the things he could have said, I never imagined this.

"Probably some weak demon, considering how you got cornered by a pack of Hellhounds." He dissed, making me indignant and a little insulted. I was called a freak, and idiot amongst other things, but I was never called a demon. And who the Hades was he to call me weak? He didn't even know me! And I saved the world countless times for Poseidon's sake!

I glared stonily at him. "I am no demon."

Snapping my fingers, I summoned the Mist and looked him in the eye. I had perfected Mist Manipulation by now, and it was time to put it in use.

"You will not remember anything of this night." I commanded. "And the sword looks like a baseball bat."

He blinked in confusion.

"Was that supposed to work?" He said. "'Cause if it was, you failed big time. I still remember everything, and the thing in your hands still looks like a sword."

A clear sighted mortal.

I groaned in defeat, throwing my hands up.

"Okay," I took a deep breath, and asked, "who are you?"

He raised an inquisitive blonde eyebrow, contemplating something, "Dean." He said finally. "Dean Winchester. You?"

"Percy Jackson." I greeted, extending my hand. He shook it twice, and I was surprised by his grip. It was pretty firm.

"How did you kill the Hellhounds?" Dean asked curiously. "Those things are a pain in the ass to kill." He said in exasperation.

My eyes widened. This guy hunted monsters? He just had to be a demigod. But that vibe wasn't coming from him. Minor, perhaps?

"Whose your parent?" I asked, feeling a bit like I was poking my nose into his business. Dean glared at me as his eyes hardened.

Demigod, probably. And he doesn't even know it.

"This is a matter of life and death, Dean," I said determinedly. "Who is the parent that abandoned you? Mom or dad?"

Dean looked panicked, like he'd met a lunatic. I probably sounded like one, so I really didn't blame him.

"You're insane." He declared. "A hunter, but insane."

"A hunter?" I echoed, befuddled.

Confusion clouded his eyes. "You don't know who a hunter is?"

Did a male version of the Hunters of Artemis open up or something? I was beyond lost at this point. I tilted my head.

"You know," he prodded, "we hunt demons and demigods and witches and other Supernatural stuff."

I was terrified. This guy hunted demigods. I had to get out of here right now.

But then why didn't he recognize my sword?

"Forget it." Dean pinched the bridge of this nose.

"Agreed." I said in reply, slightly relieved. But not as much. This guy hunted demigods.

Looks like I have a research project ahead of me.

"See you again?" He offered.

I nodded, sprinting the Hades out of that alley. But not before saying, 'Nice to meet you, Dean'.

Somehow, as I ran, I felt like I met someone familiar. I didn't know why.'

Now I do. This guy is my freaking _cousin_.

"Dean?" I ask, alarmed. "What are you doing here? Are you alright?"

He does the last thing I expect him to do.

He _laughs_. Honest-to-goodness laughs, of _all things_.

I shake my head fondly. _At least some things haven't changed_.

"Sally was right," he says proudly. "You care for family more than yourself. First, how did you end up here? I was told you were in Tartarus?"

I flinch at the notion. "I was," I admit, "but then Lilith took me away. Ever since then, Alistair's been trying to break me, and believe me, I am scarily close. You?"

"Just for a deal I made so Sammy could live." He says, waving my concern off.

"Sammy?" I ask, puzzled before the metaphorical light bulb switches on above my head. "Oh," I look sheepish, "you mean Sam. But then again, how are you standing here? Aren't you supposed to be on the racks too?"

He looks guilty, and that expression triggers alarm bells in my head.

 _He gave up._ I realize with unadulterated horror. _He gave up.  
_  
"I'm so sorry, Percy," he says regretfully, seeing the terror on my face, "but the pain . . . It was too much for me to bear. I'm so sorry." Tears are pooling in Dean's eyes.

"Oh hush," I chide him, "how long have you been here?"

"Forty years," he says, still looking like he's blaming himself. "It's been a decade since I gave up."

He lasted thirty years? Impressive.

"Alistair?" I say, and he nods.

I am going to gut that bugger. He did this to Dean.

And suddenly, I realize what is off with Dean. The spark of the rebellious nature he had isn't there. And that terrifies me.

If Alistair could get to Dean, who knows how long will it take him to get to me? I shudder at the thought.

"How long have you been on the racks?" Dean asks sadly.

"Twenty," I lie, trying not to worry Dean. Unfortunately, said person narrows his eyes at me. I gulp.

"Okay fine! Thirty!"

Dean's eyes narrow further.

". . . Eighty years." I admit sheepishly.

Dean looks like his brain left him and said 'bye-bye'. Then he looks like he got a newly functioning brain to reboot his whole body.

". . . _What_?!"

I have the urge to laugh at my cousin. I don't think I can though, I haven't laughed in ages. I let a small smile flit across my face, conveying my words

Dean understands, because he's chuckling in agreement, before slowly and carefully removing the hooks from my hands. Even then I let out a pained hiss.

"Ah," a sickening and very recognizable voice says behind us, the moment I get down, "So the heroes are finally united."

My heart races in my chest as I hear that. We both turn in slow motion to look at the intruder and freeze.

 _Lilith._

Fucking

Lilith.

Fucking _mother_ _of_ _demons_ Lilith.

Fucking _Lucifer's daughter, mother of demons_ Lilith.

In all her sadistic childlike glory.

"So," she drawls, pulling on a sad face, "why wasn't I invited to this meeting?"

That would have made any kid sound pouty and adorable and petulant but Lilith looks menacing. If the factor was any higher, I would have been quaking uncontrollably.

We don't answer her.

She juts her lower lip out. "I wish you would have just answered my question," she snaps her fingers, her expression now of dark glee. I wish she didn't take a child as a host. Honestly, she looks a Hell (Get it? Hell? No? Cue nervous laughter from my side) lot scarier than she should be. "Get 'em, boys."

Shadows explode all around us, blotting out even the blood-red sky of Hell. I panic, because I never ever had a problem with the dark being a son of Poseidon, but now I can't even see my little pinky. And the worst part is that somehow, I can't hear anything.

And to think that demons are surrounding us . . .

 _No._

I will not let Lilith lay me down this time. I refuse to.

I am praying to God (and by that I mean the metaphysical one, not the Greek Gods. They can't help me anyway, what with me being in actual Hell and all) that we should get out of here, and I know that Dean is doing the same.

A warm glow surrounds me, and I feel like my wish is granted. It feels like a father's hug, which is odd, considering that Poseidon can't come here even if he wants to. All this happens in a fraction of a second.

But that doesn't last long, obviously.

My back feels like someone created two equal sized gashes from inside my body, and pushing something really warm and sticky and . . . Feathery? out of it. I bend over ( _Gods_! I sound like such a slut! That came out wrong. Gosh, I don't mean it _that way!_ My face is beet red now, if someone could see it . . . That would be _so embarrassing_!) like I've been punched in the gut. It hurts, like the entire River Styx was poured in those gigantic cuts, and I howl in pain. My hands find Dean's in the dark, and I squeeze them for some kind of relief, and judging by the way he's screaming as well, I must be hurting him pretty badly.

 _I'm sorry, Dean_ , I think through my pain addled mind. _I'm so sorry._

A bright white light fills the place, and I find myself blind after adjusting to the darkness of Hell. My back doesn't ache anymore, and I want to get out of here. Sadly, whoever's causing that painful light will do something to us too, and I don't recon we'll live to tell the tale.

But there's a problem.

My legs don't _budge_.

 _Oh well_ , I think, steeling myself for death. _Sadly I'll remain here and . . . And . . . I'll still be tortured and . . ._ _  
_  
 _No._

You are absolutely not going there, Percy.

I think of my mom's apartment, the last place I was in before entering Olympus. The smell of blue cookies, Mom and Paul . . .

And suddenly, that light is gone.

My eyes are still closed. Maybe this is what death feels like, if you don't go to the Underworld and have an express ticket to Hell's torture chambers.

My hopes rise when I hear a high-pitched scream.

Or more precisely, _my mom's_ high-pitched scream.

I am squealing in joy internally as my eyes peel open, and the sunlight feels like forks stabbing them. _Hades_. I ignore the feeling, and look at Dean. His eyes are still closed tightly, and I shake him.

"Dean," I coax, "Dean, we're safe now."

He cautiously opens his eyes, looking around warily, like this was some sick game of Hell. But I could tell it isn't. That light felt pure, holy. And demons can't imitate that.

"We aren't in Hell Dean," I say, smiling in relief. " _We aren't in Hell_!

* * *

 **\- X -**

* * *

Sally doesn't know what to think.

Her son, _her little boy_ , and Dean, her nephew who she'd come to love like her own son are in front of her. _Alive_. And _not_ in Hell or Tartarus. Her eyes aren't deceiving her, are they? Sally rubs her eyes furiously, but she still finds their figures.

She is a very distressed mom, and in times of distress, she does the first thing that enters her mind.

In this case, she screams. Loudly.

But her son and nephew ignore her. Why, she doesn't know. They probably think that they are in an illusion. But somehow Percy seems to see that no, this is not an illusion, he shakes Dean and murmurs something that only said person can hear.

Percy turns to her, smiling, and it's exactly how Sally remembers it.

That is the last straw.

She runs to her son, who is alive, and clutches him like there's no tomorrow. Percy huffs as the breath is knocked out of him, but Sally can't bring herself to care. _Percy's alive, Percy's alive,_ is the only thing her mind seems to register.

"Mom!" Percy squawks. "You'll kill me before I can do anything here!"

"Sorry," Sally says sheepishly before launching herself onto an awkward Dean. His reaction is exactly the same, and Percy laughs at his cousin's plight. Dean sends a death glare his way before hugging Sally back awkwardly.

Sally pulls back, beaming at the two boys, before her expression turns to one of pure horror. How she hadn't noticed that before is beyond her.

Percy has an extra pair of limbs. A very _feathery_ and _white_ pair of limbs.

Somehow in Hell, Percy got _wings_.

Sally screams again.

* * *

 **\- X -**

* * *

"Hello Annabeth," Athena says, smiling. "I see you're alright."

Annabeth hates Athena more than anything now. She expects Annabeth to be happy after she sentenced Annabeth's best friend with the same smile on her hideous face? _Puh-lease._

Annabeth plasters a fake smile on her face. "Hello to you as well, Lady Athena," Athena visibly frowns at this. "So how is Percy? Was his quest a success?"

A flash of hatred passes through Athena's steely gray eyes before settling into a cool mask. Annabeth wants to wipe that indifferent expression off her face, preferably with a tight slap to the face.

"I'm sorry, daughter," Athena says in fake sympathy, "but he died trying."

 _What a lie_.

Apparently, she voiced it out loud. Flushed golden, Athena looks like the incarnation of rage. "You dare distrust me?" She says dangerously.

Annabeth doesn't even flinch.

"Yes." Annabeth says it so coolly, like it is such a regular occurrence (not that Annabeth denies it), it has her mother whipping up her spear, and pointing it at Annabeth.

"Why you —"

"I did not need to know that you raised your sacred weapon at your children, Athena," a stone-cold voice says, making Annabeth's heart leap in joy. She knew the owner, and you can trust her on this, Annabeth has never been happier. Sadly, she could not see his face due to the very pointy object pointing at her.

"How are you here?" The thrice-damned Wisdom Goddess snarls at him.

Annabeth imagines him shrugging noncommittally. "Pulled a few strings here and there." He replied evasively.

Athena looks ready to tear her hair out, because how in the name of the gods did he manage to escape? The gods-damned spear was still pointing at her, which did not make the moment as enjoyable.

Annabeth too wanted to know.

"Now, wretched goddess, for your sake let go of her." He growls, entering Annabeth's line of sight, his signature weapon poised at her mother's neck.

He looks different somehow.

His hair was still the same inky black she knows, his tan was exactly the same. But his eyes . . .

They are not the same shade of green.

That worries Annabeth to no end. And for the fact Athena severely outmatches him . . . Annabeth's never been more worried in her whole _life_.

Athena sneers cruelly at him. "You and what army?"

"Well," Another voice says, a smile of dark glee spreading across the swordsman's face at it, "I don't know about an army, Bird Brain, but I think we all are good enough challenge for you. Don't you think?"

Athena's face flushes again as she hisses. "Poseidon."

"Let go of the girl," another green-eyed adult says. Her best friend smiles widely at the unfamiliar person. Really how many of them are there?

"And it's Neptune, actually," the Lord of the Sea adds.

Athena's eyes widen as her form flickers to that of a blonde instead of her usual dark-haired appearance, the spear dropping from her hand. Poseidon's declaration has Annabeth's mind whirling.

 _What does he mean by Neptune?_

And who the Hades is that guy?

Percy too, looks very confused. And Annabeth thinks he looks _so adorable_ at it. His eyes look like that sparkling turquoise like it used to before, and Annabeth can't help but long for the simpler times, when Percy wasn't declared a traitor, of all things. Honestly, his flaw is loyalty for crying out loud!

Athena realizes the deep waters she is in, and sends one scathing glance towards the Lord of the Seas, along with a threat of vengeance to his son before promptly vanishing in a burst of flames. It pointedly singes off a bit of Annabeth's and Percy's clothes, but leaves Dean and Poseidon or 'Neptune', as he calls himself at the moment, relatively unharmed.

The now smiling Sea God turns towards the teenage duo. "So," he drawls to Annabeth, "What do you know about Romans and Christianity?"

* * *

 **\- X -**

* * *

" _What_?!" Annabeth shrieks loudly, forcing Percy and the Hunter ( _Dean_ , Annabeth thinks is his name) clap their hands to their ears. As if one sarcastic teenage boy in the form of her best friend wasn't enough, she had two, only that Dean Winchester wasn't teenage, nor Annabeth's friend.

"Geez Wise Girl," Percy says dramatically, "any louder and the _Underworld_ might have heard."

At least he hadn't lost the dramatics.

Annabeth scowls visibly. "What did you expect, Seaweed Brain?" And here Annabeth wants to add that the first time Dean Winchester heard her nickname for Percy, he went into hysterics for ten minutes. And when she'd accidentally called him Kelp Head, Dean laughed even harder. "You can hardly expect a better reaction from someone else when they find out that their long-time friend is one of the Nephilim, their dad an archangel and that Romans exist! They are Athena's greatest rivals, for Hades' sake!"

Percy tilts his head in that cute baby seal way of his. "Why does your mom hate them? Not that I'm saying that I have a problem with that," Percy adds, "but why?"

Dean too, shakes his head pointedly at Annabeth, like he too was expecting a reply.

It is Neptune (who looks like Percy's twin, now that she has time to look at him properly) who answers. "Because of the Parthenos."

"The what?"

"The Athena Parthenos," Annabeth explains impatiently, "it used to be the center of attraction of the Parthenon, a giant forty foot ivory and gold statue which is by far the most accurate sculpture of Athena. It showed her with her shield Aegis, her sacred animal the snake, and the Goddess of Victory, Nike, in her palm, symbolizing the victory she brought in war."

"But what does that have to do with gaining Athena's anger?" Dean asks, still confused.

Annabeth does not have an answer for that.

Thankfully, Neptune satisfied his (and probably Percy's and Dean's too) curiosity. "It's because of the modifications they made. When the Romans won, they adopted the Greek gods and made them more warlike. All but one goddess, for she symbolized the will of the Greeks. They carted off Athena's statue in some desolate part and vowed it would never see the light of day, along with it took her war aspect from her. She became a more docile goddess and her role was distributed amongst the other gods they made or adopted, like Bellona and Mithras. She hated them ever since."

Percy whistles in amazement. "Wow, that's pretty harsh."

Annabeth agrees. Even though she hates her mom, she has to admit that _yes_ , that was a bit _too_ far.

"Why are you telling us this, Dad?" Percy asks, slightly suspicious.

Neptune looks grave. "Because of the Prophecy." Percy and Annabeth groan very loudly at this, "And Dean, well, I need someone to assure the rest of your family that yes, you are alright, besides, he won't breathe a word, won't you Dean?" Neptune aims the last few words at said Hunter with a death glare. Dean nods vigorously.

"What's the prophecy?" Annabeth blurts out in her curiosity, and not a second after wishes that she'd kept her big mouth shut.

"Seven heroes shall answer the call," Neptune recites, "To storm or fire the world must fall. An oath to keep with a final breath, and foes bear arms to the Doors of Death."

Percy and Annabeth groan again, and now Annabeth really wishes that she'd kept her mouth zipped. Percy gives her a mock pointed glare, like the same train of thoughts is running through his mind.

Dean just shakes his head. "And with the Angels in action, the whole thing got a hell lot complicated." He comments idly, and has the Sea God facing him in shock.

"What?!" The immortal deity downright screeches. "What do you mean by the Angels in action?!"

Dean and Percy exchange a glance, and it goes like this:

Percy - _You idiot! We weren't supposed to tell, remember?!_

Dean - _Oh come on! It was a mistake alright! And besides, your dad is the big master over there, so we're safe.  
_  
Percy _\- Still . . .  
_  
Dean - _Just spill the beans.  
_  
Percy - _Why don't you?_

Dean _\- Because I'm the elder one._

Percy - _Technically, I'm about twenty years older than you, Winchester._

Dean _\- By Earth years, not Hell._

Percy _\- Fine.  
_  
Percy faces them with a long-suffering sigh. "Dean and I had a shared dream," Annabeth is pleased to know - however unrelated it is - that Percy did not make that common mistake, "in which we were approached by an Angel of the Lord. _Castiel_ , I think, was his name. Actually it was only meant for Dean, but somehow I got tuned in. He was telling him about the beginning of the Apocalypse, and how Dean was a major player in it." Here Dean looks immensely relieved. Annabeth narrows her eyes. "Mom, Sam and Bobby were out, so they didn't know. They were saying that he had to prevent the breaking of more seals and that it was God's will."

Neptune frowns. "But He wasn't there for a long time."

Percy shrugs. "I don't know, but that's what happened. And after that I came immediately here."

Annabeth is very confused. _What is the game of the Angels? What are they trying to prove? Certainly they are lying._

When she doesn't get an answer, she decides to go with the flow.

Neptune too, is in deep thought. _The Angels were onto something._

But what?

Neptune feels horrified as a thought occurs to him. _Surely not . . ._

The Apocalypse has begun. There is no mistake about it, as the first seal was broken.  
 _'And it is written, that the Righteous Man that sheds his blood in Hell starts the beginning of the end, and only he can end it.'_

Neptune knows without a doubt that the Righteous Man is Dean, but his seal radar is pinging like crazy when he is near Percy, which would not happen unless . . .

. . . Unless the Seal of the Champion is tethered to him or someone close to him. And the list is huge.  
 _'The one who is of two races, shall be the ultimate one of them all, the purest soul, guided by the Hand of God, and the Righteous One's salvation. Only that Pure One shall fade into oblivion, to never return.'_

No one can know of this, and no one shall know, not on his watch.

And by Father, he'd be damned if he let the fate of a guilty man befall on his only mortal son.

As of now, Michael has better business to do.

Like tapping into Angel Radio.

* * *

 **So how's the third chapter of The Demigodly Hunter? I hope I did not make the characters sound too OOC. Any and all questions will be answered later in the story. But if I have not explained something clearly, do point it out. Please send your opinions through reviews. Sorry for the late update, but as I have mentioned, it will take me a long time to update.**

 **R &R**  
 **Star**


	4. Chapter 4 - Okay, What Is Going On?

Chapter 4: Just What Exactly Is Going On?

One time.

Just _one. Freaking. Time._

Was that too much to ask?

 _Apparently yes_ , he thinks.

For the first time who-even-cares how long, he had tapped into angel radio. And this, _this_ is what he finds.

He was better off _not_ knowing.

Not only did he manage to put himself at incredible risk by pulling that particular stunt, but also he manages to know just a few things:

a) His siblings still are dicks, with rods still shoved up their asses.

b) They think Michael's going to appear the moment they earn the consent of his true vessel.

c) They think the former Light-Bringer is going to appear the moment they earn the consent of his true vessel.

d) They've been tormenting the Winchesters because of above two reasons, not even worrying about the fact that _no, that neither of the missing archangels_ need _a vessel_.

e) And they _somehow_ managed to drag _his_ family into it.

Oh come on! What in the name of Chaos is going on?! Do they have not an ounce of brain cells in their heads?! Honestly speaking, Raphael must be frying all of them, hmm?

The Archangel of Healing had never been the smart one.

Oh no, that was Lucifer.

The Archangel of Healing had never been the leading type.

Nope, that was Michael's specialty.

The Archangel of Healing had never been the close one.

Wrong again, that had _Gabriel_ written over it in huge bold letters.

There was only one thing that that Archangel could do, and that was healing. And giving incredible lectures. Well, that didn't mean Raphael was bad _necessarily_. More like misguided, because poor guy, he isn't used to this. The three brothers had abandoned him, and Raphael had created an ice-cold exterior so that no one could see what had happened to him.

He admires Raphael for it, even though his approach is wrong.

And just _where_ is God, anyway? It's supposed to be _His_ duty to lead Heaven, not the second-youngest Archangel's.

God just keeps confirming that He is a deadbeat dad who keeps giving His children serious daddy issues.

 _Just like father dearest._

Don't ever ask, but Kronos is incredibly deadbeat, horrible, cruel, and mean father. He had _swallowed_ them for Chaos' sake!

Ew. Just _no._

Thank goodness they had overthrown him in the end. But still, he could not deny that being in daddy-of-the-year's (not) stomach was one of the best things that happened to him.

He had gained someone who would _listen_.

In other words, Hestia.

Hestia is awesome. Ask any person you know that knows her, they'll all say the same thing. Because she just _is_.

And she wasn't disgusted, like some of the other cultures and people he'd tried to integrate with over the years – _Anubis_ – she was sweet, kind and very understanding, just like his older brother used to be.

 _Before that bond broke._ He thinks sardonically.

At first, he was wary of Hestia. Maybe she'd leave him like _him_ , _Him,_ and _them_. But then she proved herself time and again, and he couldn't help but reveal everything to her.

She had not batted even an eyelash.

She told him that she didn't care, and that she'd always be his elder sister. He had been so unbelievably grateful, he wonders to this day whether it how had it been possible to do so.

That didn't matter. Let's go on with the epic sob story of his life.

When they were all freed, when they'd divided their domains, his brothers had shunned him.

He'd felt so unbelievably sad at that.

He had been the clingy one of the family – the one who never let go. And when his brothers had given him the same treatment he'd received over and over again . . .

He had been so _hurt_.

But Hestia was always there – her soothing words, her empathy – she was ( _is_ ) the one constant in his miserable life.

That's what makes it more bearable.

God had been horrible, he decided to smother him with praise and when he asked a question – a harmless, innocent question – he'd been cast out, with his wings partially torn off his back.

It had taken _forever_ for them to heal to their original state, even though he doesn't use them now. Chaos, he hasn't used them in _millennia_.

But did He care? No.

Did He even bother? No.

 _So why should I?_ His mind had reasoned then. But his heart had known differently.

 _He's the only father I ever knew . . ._

And thus began the inconclusive circle of the fight between thoughts and feelings. At times, they overwhelmed him. Too much.

Only problem is –

– He doesn't _do_ 'emotions'.

He had always sucked (epically) when it came to the intangible objects experience by everyone that are called 'feelings'. He went overboard with these kind of things, and he probably wouldn't have known true love until it slapped him in the face (Literally). Ask his wife – she knows _all_ about it.

But that's probably because she is the one who had done it in the first place.

He loves her for it. So, so much.

Now the last thing he wants is – he is shuddering at the thought – the . . . The fucking _Apocalypse_.

He had sworn to never get involved with that kind of A-grade shit that was his past life _ever. Again._

But then they parading around threatening _his_ family.

Oh boy, they were in a world of trouble.

Anyone and everyone, - and by this he means _everyone_ – knows not to ever, _ever_ mess with _his_ family. He might as well have a freaking plaque over each and every loved one that read: _'Warning: Don't touch please, or you will be tortured painfully, and then killed in the most humiliating way as possible! And then brought back again, and repeated till you become a withered husk that will fade out of existence. Poof! – like you never existed.'_

So yeah. He _kind of_ went overboard with these things because _this is his amazing family we're talking about over here!_

Don't say no one warned you.

Just so that you don't claim that shit, he'll give you a _gentle_ reminder:

 _Never. EVER. Touch. His. FAMILY._

Because simply, that's one of things you just _don't do in life_. That is, if you even had a shred of self-worth and self-preservation. It's like committing suicide. Or signing your death warrant.

If you want all of the above, then you can go right ahead. But remember, he warned you.

* * *

 **\- X -**

* * *

Okay, this is one of the most sucktastic days of my life.

So it began when Dad had left to his underwater kingdom (He had teleported Dean home, thank the gods) and we _tried_ to leave the camp inconspicuously.

Put heavy emphasis on _tried_.

We got caught by _Tyson AND Grover_ (of all people!) Can you imagine how much strain that must have caused my nerves, bones, mind – and did I forget to mention my bones, because _holy shit, that is one bone-crushing hug!_

Huh, I probably sound like a freaking verbal freight train right now, don't I?

"Tyson!" I say, my voice muffled. I can practically _see_ Annabeth trying not to laugh at my plight. Poor me. "Put me down!"

Reluctantly Tyson put me down, and just as I had guessed, Annabeth is smiling, the bastard. That little shit! Err, not so _little_.

"Where had big brother been?" Tyson asks innocently, and Grover looks at Annabeth and myself with hard and resolute eyes. They remind me of flint. Odd, for a Lord of the Wild.

"Yes _Percy_ ," Grover says, "Tell us where you've _been_."

I shoot him a scathing glare which makes him flinch. Nico and Thalia would be proud.

 _Speaking_ of Nico _and_ Thalia . . .

 _Pleaseletthemnotbehere_.

"What was that Percy?" The Lord of the Wild asks.

"Nothing." I shake my head. "I've just been . . . _about_ , I guess."

" _About_?" Grover and Annabeth say incredulously.

I glare at them. "Yes, _about_. And _not a word_ different, either of you."

Grover shakes his head. "Don't lie to me, Percy." He says. "I felt you die. Over and over again."

Grover shudders, like he's seeing it again. Tyson frowns innocently, and I flinch.

Annabeth goes stock-still.

"Grover." I warn. "Drop it."

He gulps, clip-clopping away. But he does shoot me a look that says: _I'll be talking to you later._

I don't look forward to it.

Annabeth tries to lighten the somber mood that hung like a curtain around us. "I guess Seaweed Brain really has a head full of seaweed." She comments. "Running away from Nico _and_ Thalia? You're so gone!"

I froze. I did the exact same thing.

"Hey, Annabeth!" A girl's voice calls out. "Who's the lucky guy you're talking to?"

I am probably a second from turning into a Percy pizza (with extra sparks!).

Annabeth glances nervously at me. "No one, Thals. Check-up on the Hunters, would you? I think I saw one terrorizing the younger campers with horror stories of their hunts."

I didn't dare turn to look.

"I'll get to it," Thalia waves it off, "But lemme see! Lemme see the guy who managed to garner your oh-so-important interest!"

"No!" Annabeth panics. _Thank you, Annabeth. Didn't know you cared._ "He's a bit afraid of the Hunters, especially you, considering your man-hating reputation."

"Well I promise not to harm in any way, shape or form," Thalia swore, "But I wanna see the dumb guy you're talking about."

I am officially insulted. _Dumb?_

"That's what I said," Annabeth says proudly. _Gee Annie, nice to know I'm so loved_. "But he's more obtuse than dumb, really."

Annabeth? Annabeth who? I have no idea of who you're talking of.

"I didn't meant _dumb_ as in _stupid_." Thalia says, and I can see her rolling her eyes. "I meant _dumb_ as in _not able to talk_. He hasn't said a word till now."

"Thalia!" Annabeth chastises.

"Girls, girls," A condescending voice butts in, "you're both pretty. Now, what's going on?"

 _Oh shit._

 _Oh._

 _My._

 _Gods._

 _Shit, shit, shit!_

It's _Nico_.

Nico di Angelo, Ghost King Supreme, Prince of the Underworld etcetera, etcetera.

Oh, I'm in it for now.

Well, best to reveal myself before it's too late.

Steeling my nerves, I turn around.

"Hey Death Breath, Pinecone Face," I smile nervously. "Long time no see."

Judging by their faces, I'm _so_ screwed.

* * *

 **\- X -**

* * *

"Where have you _been_?!" My cousins screech like banshees once they asked Annabeth to excuse us.

"On a quest?" I say, totally scared out of my wits.

They turn their death glares toward me. I want to crawl into a hole and never come out of it again.

"Are you asking, or are you stating?" Nico demands.

Demandy pants.

"Stating?" I reply nervously.

"Then why are you asking us?" Thalia growls. She's spitting out small sparks as the shadows somehow manage to accumulate around Nico. _Cr_ eepy.

Can I just die right now?

"I'm not!" I insist. "I was on a . . . um, quest," _Shit, I'm stuttering_. "and I uh, just came back."

"You sure did," Nico drawls. "You sure did. _Without telling us_."

"Uh, yeah," Forget a verbal freight train, I'm a verbal freight train _wreck_.

"You're lucky we didn't give you any bodily harm, Kelp Head," Thalia said, tears flowing from her face. One look at Nico di Angelo, I know he's in the same position. "You were gone for _eight months_. _Eight very long months_ , Percy. We looked everywhere for you!"

I feel so _guilty_ right now.

"C'mon here," I say, my voice thick.

We all hug each other like our life depends on it. We may be a family with a lot of problems, fights, kicking, screaming and what not, but in the end, we are family. And that is all that matters. At least, that's all that matters to _me_.

"Perseus Jackson!" Someone screams halfway across camp. I can only think of one thing.

 _What did I do now?_

* * *

 **\- X -**

* * *

Dean had totally not expected this.

He's going to go a bit back now, just so that he sounds comprehensible. Capuche? Good.

See, he just went to a department store after he caught up with Sam, and just as he picked a wrapped apple pie that looked _very_ appetizing, someone (or some _thing_ ) screeched.

He's not kidding. Honest-to-god _screeched_.

The windows shatter, the shelves fly out of place. Dean ducks under, motioning all the other people to do the same.

His eardrums want to burst, and he feels blood pouring from his right ear.

Ditching the pie (how sad), Dean covers his ears with his hands and exits the store slowly and carefully. He didn't want to take any chances, even though the thing could probably kill him in this state.

Just as he's going to leave, a hand halts his movement. Dean panics, because the _thing_ didn't have a corporeal _hand_ , shaking off the appendage as fast as he could and ran to the nearest vehicle.

Strangely enough, the car looks like a yellow New York City taxi, and Dean manages to hot-wire the car with surprising amount of ease.

Switching the radio on for some _decent_ tunes, Dean Winchester sets course for Upper East Side, Manhattan, the Jackson's residence – full steam.

What the Hell was _that_? Some kind of banshee? As far as Dean knows, there is no such thing as a 'banshee'. But then again, considering the track record he had and plain old sucky Winchester luck, there _can_ be one following him. Winchester luck is _very_ shitty, and _that_ is an established fact of the universe – just like the monsters roaming in the dark, behind the backs of regular people.

So no, Dean wouldn't be surprised if banshees are real. He doesn't fancy dealing with blood-sucking, artery shattering monsters, though.

What? He _reads_ you know!

Anyway, Godspeed to him.

* * *

 **\- X -**

* * *

"Hi." I say timidly.

It's Clarisse who'd shouted a while back.

"The hell, Jackson?" She whispers harshly, not wanting to be overheard by the Camp.

I _really_ don't have an answer for that.

See, Clarisse is a Hunter too. That's why she's so good with weapons – Ares is just part of the reason. Mom filled me up after the whole Hell fiasco, and _apparently_ Clarisse was one of those people who searched for me.

The only she could have known . . . _Traitor_. I think with mock-heat.

"Took the words right out of my mouth, girl." I say, smirking slightly.

Her eyes grow shockingly wide. "Are you _freaking_ kidding me? You are, aren't you?"

At my dead serious face, her eyes are as huge as saucers. "The _fuck_ , Jackson? What happened? Because as far as I know, the only way someone as noble as _you_ would go into Hell is by selling their soul."

I smile bitterly.

"The Gods. And Lilith." I reply simply.

Clarisse growls like a feral _animal_. "What did those asshats do _now_?"

"They killed me."

"What the Hades?!"

"You heard me, Clarisse," I say, quiet. "They killed me."

"No way." she says in disbelief.

"Yes way." I deadpan. "They're the _Gods_. They can do _anything_ and _get away with it_."

"I am officially disowning my dad." Clarisse snarls.

"If I had a sucky dad as yours, I'd disown him too." I agree. "I mean really, the guy's a _moron_ and the only thing that goes on in his head is _war_. Seriously."

"Hey!" Clarisse protests. "That's my _dad_ you're talking about, Prissy."

I laugh.

 _Same old, same old Clarisse._ I think fondly. Ever since the Titan War, Clarisse is like that little sister I never really wanted. Though she'll kill me if she ever hears that.

* * *

 **\- X -**

* * *

It feels good to be back behind the wheel of his Impala.

With Sammy in the back seat and Bobby behind them in his truck, life is good. They are on their way to see a psychic that Bobby knows, see if they can figure out what is going on and what the hell the son of a bitch is.

"Sam how'd you get out that night?" He glances in the rearview mirror. "I thought Lilith wanted to kill you."

"She tried, she couldn't." Sam replies.

"What do you mean she couldn't?" Dean asks, alarmed.

"She fired this burning light at me," Sam says, "and it didn't leave a scratch. Like I was immune or something. I don't know who was more surprised, me or her. Anyway, she left pretty quickly after that."

"What about Ruby?" Dean asked suspiciously. He doesn't want that bitch close to Sam or anyone he knows. "Where's she?"

"Dead." Sam states quickly. "Or in hell."

"So have you been using your freaking ESP stuff?" Dean says. _Please let it be no, please let it be no._

"No."

"You sure?" Dean prods. "You've got immunity or whatever now, you don't have anything else freaky going on?"

"No, Dean." Sam lies again. "You told me not to go down that road so I didn't go down that road. It was practically your dying wish."

The psychic's name is Pamela Barnes. She isn't what they had expected from a psychic; Pamela is the exact opposite of the crazy old lady waving a crystal ball. Well, she might be a little crazy but she isn't old, she is hot and definitely has her eyes on the Winchesters. She wants to do a séance to get a sneak peek at Dean's 'friend'. Notice the sarcasm.

She quickly gets the things set up and has them sit around a table of candles, holding hands. "Okay," She says, "I need to touch something our mystery monster touched." Pamela slides her hand under the table.

Dean's leg jerks and hits the top of the table. "Whoa!" he exclaims "Well he didn't touch me there!"

She smirks. "My mistake."

He rolls his sleeve up and she puts her hand over his handprint.

 _Okay, hot shot, time to know who you are._

Pamela closes her eyes, focusing again. "I invoke, conjure and command you, appear unto me before this circle. I invoke, conjure and command you, appear unto me before this circle. I invoke, conjure and . . ." The Mystery Monster begins to talk to Pamela.

"Castiel?" They look at Pam. His name is Castiel? "No, sorry Castiel, I don't scare easily."

"Castiel?" Sam says, disbelieving.

"Its name." Pam answers. "It's whispering to me, warning me to turn back. I conjure and command you, show me your face."

As she repeats the command over and over, the table continues to shake, more violently now. This Castiel has some strong mojo for sure, to put up such a fight not to be seen.

"Maybe we should stop." Bobby warns.

"I almost got it." Pamela throws caution to the wind. "I command you, show me your face. Show me your face now!" Suddenly the candle fire raises and she screams; a bright light fills Pamela's eyes and they start bleeding before she falls back onto the floor. Bobby grabs her and yells at Sam to call an ambulance. When Pamela opens her eyes again, they had been burned out of her sockets.

* * *

 **\- X -**

* * *

Later that afternoon they stop to get something to eat while Bobby was looking over Pamela in the hospital.

She'd been pronounced stable and moved out of ICU to start the burn treatment.

"We followed these demons to town and we still haven't found them. We should go find them, someone's gotta know something about something." Sam says to Dean.

The waitress serves them their food, Dean's pie in his case and pulls a chair in front of their table.

"You angling for a tip?" Dean smirks.

"I'm sorry, I thought you were looking for us." Her eyes turn black. They look around and the other patrons of the place are demons as well.

One gets up and locks the door. "Dean, to hell and back, aren't you a lucky duck?" he drawls

"That's me." Dean bites back.

"So you get to just stroll out of the pit? Tell me, what makes you so special?" The demon sneers at him.

"I don't know, I don't know who pulled me out." Wow. How did Dean pull that off again?

"Right." The demon drags out.

He pauses. "You don't know either. You're just as spooked as we are, and you're looking for answers. Maybe it was some supercharged spirit, or Godzilla, or some big, bad, boss demon. Whoever it was, they _want_ me out, and they're a lot stronger than you. So go ahead, do your worst. But down come crawling to us when they show up on your doorstep with Vaseline and a fire hose."

"I'm gonna reach down your throat and rip out your lungs." The demon threatens.

Sam leans forward but he holds him back. The demon reaches out and punches Sam in the face. When he doesn't respond, he hit him again. "That's what I thought." He says.

And they get up, and walk out. Just like that. No one stops them.

Sam glances back to the diner furiously. "We're not just going to leave them there are we?" he demands.

"Hell yeah, there's three of them, probably more and we only got one knife between us." Dean reasons.

Sam shrugs nonchalantly. "We can handle them."

"Whatever kamikaze slaughtering you were into before is stopping now okay? I'm back. Those demons are scared and we've got something more important going on." Dean says sternly to his brother and together they return to Bobby's in relative silence.

Tonight the windows blow out of Dean's temporary room at the Jackson residence and crashing is heard from inside. "Shit." Sam runs to the room, stepping through the broken window to get inside just as Bobby and Sally come in Percy's still at Camp. "Dean?" he asks.

Dean is on the floor clutching his head and blood is running from his hands. Sam doesn't give a damn about the consequences, they are summoning this bastard. _Now_.

After he cleans up a little, Bobby drives them out to an abandoned barn and they set up shop. They cover every inch of that place with traps, symbols, talismans, everything from every religion in the world. They stock up on stakes, silver, rock salt, iron and of course, Ruby's knife that Dean had swiped from Sam; everything they need to kill everything they'd ever heard of. It is the unheard of they are nervous about.

Sally recites the incantation and they wait. They are starting to wonder if anything will happen at all when suddenly the building around the starts to shake.

Dean glances up. "Could be really strong wind . . ." he mumbles.

Sam watches the lights burst one at a time. "Thinking not." He retorts.

The doors swing open slowly. A guy about their age with messy, raven colored sex-hair and the clearest azure blue eyes enters dramatically. He's wearing a dress shirt, khaki pants and a freaking _trench coat_.

"Who are you?" Sam asks the newcomer.

"My name is Castiel." He says, looking at the oldest Winchester intently. "And I am an Angel of Lord. Heaven has work for you, Dean Winchester." He glances at the other occupants of the room. "You as well, Bobby Singer, Sam Winchester, Sally Jackson. Also, where is Perseus Jackson?"

 _We are screwed._

* * *

 **\- X -**

* * *

It's beautiful, _Percy thinks,_ beautiful and pure.

 _Percy's seen him before._

 _Where did he see it . . .?_

 _Bingo!_

 _"_ _The world needs you, Percy," The guy who warned Percy from entering the Throne room says, "_ I _need you. Heaven has gone too far, and I need your help to rectify Raphael's mistakes."_

 _He nods dumbly._

 _"_ _I wish it hadn't come to this, Son of Michael," it whispers, "I wish I didn't have to enforce so harsh a lesson on my children."_

 _Percy has no idea what it is saying. He's not sure that he wants to know._

* * *

 **So there's the fourth chapter of The Demigodly Hunter. It's sort of a filler, so don't judge me. Also, 54 favorites? That's a bit more than I expected. The Curious Case of One Guardian Angel is also doing _so_ well! Thank you all so much!**

 **R &R**

 **Star**


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